


Cosmic Violence

by boughofawillowtree



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abuse, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Belts, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demon!Aziraphale, Good Omens Kink Meme, Good Omens Reverse AU, Hell wins, Inspired by Fanfiction, Kink Meme, M/M, Physical Abuse, Slave Crowley, Violence, angel!Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boughofawillowtree/pseuds/boughofawillowtree
Summary: After Hell wins the war, the demon Aziraphale takes the angel Crowley as his victor's spoils. He doesn't like it when his new captive sleeps, and dispenses severe punishment for it.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 147
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme





	Cosmic Violence

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Severance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21818026) by [Thousand_Ribbons (Meridians_of_Madness)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Thousand_Ribbons). 



> Written for [this kink meme prompt](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=1834073). I initially just posted it on the kink meme, because it felt a bit too unfinished for ao3, just a little vignette of brutality, but kink meme folks told me to post it here. So here it is!
> 
> This AU and the characterizations are cribbed, with permission, from @Meridian_of_Madness's stories [Severance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21818026) and [Fractions of His Faith](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22200862) \- huge thanks to her for letting me play around with the intense, excellent AU and characters she built.
> 
> Title is from Transviolet's song _Bloodstream_.

Crowley knelt beside the bed.

Aziraphale liked to leave him here like this, stored away, instructed to remain still and wait. 

All he could do was wait.

An object, a toy, put up and ignored until its owner desired to use it.

Aziraphale liked walking into the bedroom and taking stock of all his belongings. He liked seeing Crowley, set among the rest of his possessions. Here was the night table, here was the stack of books, here was the bed with its ornately carved posts, and here was Crowley. 

He had been kneeling here for hours, if not longer. His knees ached. His shoulders felt tight, and the room was too cold, given that he was nude, as always. Worst of all, his mind screamed with boredom. 

Crowley longed for the oblivion of sleep. He was tired, bone-deep tired, and he missed sleep more than any other luxury he’d known before the terrible war, before his capture, before this new and endless life as a slave to the conquering demon. 

Aziraphale did not like him to sleep.

Why, Crowley was not entirely sure. What went on behind the demon’s too-blue eyes was a mystery, one Crowley guessed would be too chilling to stand were he to access it. 

For whatever reason, Aziraphale seemed to enjoy depriving Crowley of the pleasure, and so he was forbidden to sleep.

Instead, he was to wait, remaining awake and alert, the weight of his own consciousness nearly crushing him. Aziraphale was somewhere else, living, thinking, eating,  _ doing _ . Humiliated rage boiled in Crowley’s body, tension gripping his muscles.

He hated this. Hated being left alone, his entire being reduced to simply waiting on Aziraphale’s attentions. Hated feeling like just another  _ thing _ , alongside the night table, the bedposts, the teacup.

And he was so, so tired.

Crowley shifted slightly, keeping his hands on his knees and his back straight while trying to find a more comfortable position. He listened for the movements of the demon downstairs. Was Aziraphale in the house? Had he gone out? 

All was silent. Aziraphale was either reading, or gone.

Crowley leaned to the side, resting his head against the edge of the bed. He would let himself stay like this until he heard footsteps on the stairs.

His eyelids felt heavy. Without his permission, they slipped shut.

Oh, it felt so good. The bedspread was soft under his cheek. He missed beds. He missed pillows and blankets and long naps.

Crowley told himself he mustn’t fall asleep. He would only rest his eyes, relax in the cool darkness, for a moment or two. 

***

“Crowley.”

The angel’s eyes flew open and he saw Aziraphale in the doorway, a furious glare in his eyes. 

Fuck. He had been sleeping. How had he let himself fall asleep?

Now Aziraphale was angry. 

“Get up.” 

At the demon’s command, Crowley scrambled to his feet. 

“You were sleeping.” It was not a question. Crowley did not answer.

Aziraphale walked into the room. Crowley took a fluttering step backwards, toward the wall. 

“I believe I told you what the consequences would be, should you choose to sleep again while you belong to me. Did I not?”

“I’m sorry, Sir - I didn’t mean-”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley with a stern tilt of his head. “I didn’t ask whether you were sorry. Nor did I ask whether you intended to transgress. I asked you whether you were aware of the promised consequences.”

Crowley lowered his gaze. “Yes, Sir.” He felt the wall behind him - he had backed into it. His hands were behind his back, palms pressed against the cool plaster. 

Aziraphale took his coat off and hung it on the rack next to the doorway. “Shame,” he said. “This wasn’t at all what I came in to do.”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale brushed an invisible speck of lint off his coat, then unbuttoned his cuffs and began to roll up his sleeves. “Ah, well. Needs must, I suppose.”

Aziraphale approached Crowley slowly, tucking his sleeves up at his elbows. Crowley kept his eyes studiously away from the doorway and focused on Aziraphale.

There was no escape, he reminded himself. No sense in fighting, or trying to prevent this from happening.

Aziraphale intended it. So it would happen.

Still, Crowley couldn’t help himself when he saw the demon’s hands begin to unbuckle his belt and slide the leather out of the loops.

“Please, Sir, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again - please don’t, please-”

Aziraphale had the belt in his hand now, his fingers curled around the buckle, the leather wrapped once around his fist. 

“Turn around.”

“Please-”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s arm roughly and spun him around, then put one strong hand between Crowley’s shoulderblades and pressed him to the wall. It was cold, and Crowley felt a shiver run through his entirely exposed body. 

The belt came down, hard, across Crowley’s back, and he cried out. The sound cracking through the room as strap met flesh was the worst thing Crowley had ever heard. Pain blazed over his ass, his thighs, his back, as Aziraphale’s steady hand kept the blows coming, brutal and rythmic. Crowley pounded the wall with his fists, his face shoved against the wall.

It was too much, too much, and Crowley’s body began to rebel. His hands flew behind him to try and block the belt, and his legs went weak. Aziraphale let Crowley fall to the floor, where he cowered in a ball against the corner.

Again, Aziraphale brought the belt down, letting it fall anywhere on Crowley’s body. Aziraphale stood over Crowley and continued to beat him, his eyes like a blinding sky, his arm raised high, the belt coming down in a terrible arc that ended in a white-hot agony.

Crowley squirmed and tried to cover himself, but no matter how he curled and twisted, still the belt struck his ribs, his arms, his legs. The very tip of the leather caught his cheek and he howled, wrapping his arms around his face. 

Finally, when Crowley was reduced to a sobbing pile of limbs, ablaze with pain, burning stripes covering nearly every inch of him, Aziraphale stopped. Crowley peeked through his arms, his vision blurred with tears, to see Aziraphale replacing his belt.

Then the demon was on the ground next to Crowley, pulling one arm away to force Crowley to look at him.

“Do you understand why I had to do that?”

Crowley nodded.

“I don’t like it when you sleep,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t like you going off without me. I want you here. With me. Always.”

Crowley nodded again. “Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, then. Up now.” Aziraphale stood, bringing Crowley with him. When the demon ran a hand over Crowley’s much-abused backside, the angel flinched away with a hiss of pain.

“Oh hush, none of that. It was only a belting.” Aziraphale brought Crowley to the bed and curled up with him, holding him like a doll. Everywhere the demon’s clothes came in contact with Crowley’s skin, it hurt. But Crowley stayed still, submitted to being held.

Aziraphale brushed a tear from Crowley’s cheek with a soft chuckle. “You angels, all so soft.”

Crowley had no answer, only closed his eyes and thought of his siblings, his friends, gone on the battlefield or hauled away to worse fates. 

“But it’s over now,” the demon continued in a sickly, soothing voice. “I’ve got you.”

Crowley fought down a shudder, forcing the movement to come out instead like a nuzzle, shifting closer in to Aziraphale’s embrace. The demon laughed. 

“That’s it,” Aziraphale murmured, running his perfectly manicured fingernails over the angry, raised welts on Crowley’s skin. He did nothing to hide his enjoyment of Crowley’s whimpers.

“That’s it, there you go. I’ve got you, now. I’ve got you.”


End file.
